A patient hunter, time stalks us. Fading and crumbling, our certainty is only a hindrance now.
We will stand before it, certain in the end. What if they’re all true; ALL the stories? All the theories? All the positions? What if the only thing that really mattered was the path we negotiated and the notice we took of what we saw on the way? Perhaps memory and hope are simply imposters?
For some people ‘achieve’ nothing of outward merit, yet have truly happy lives. Their calling is a quiet vocation, surrounded by simple words and devotion to the small needs of others. Sometimes they teach us how to BE small enough, just by living with us.
For others CALLING is a big CAPITAL LETTER word. It is driven through, ridden and shouted from the highest peaks. Happiness is in the very shining of the stars and reaching the heavens.
Whatever. A patient hunter, time cares not for our wishes, nor how brightly we shine, nor the places we might hide or the havens we strive to find.
We WILL be found. Then time will look calmly into our eyes, and I’d like to think that the end will be swift and merciful; that we will be dispatched with compassion.